


Have Your Cake

by sterlingonacid



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Cupcake shop au, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 07:48:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4556547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterlingonacid/pseuds/sterlingonacid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newton owns a cupcake shop that shares the locale with Herc's little used book shop. On this particular day, Hermann has gone out of his way to walk through this neighbourhood—on an uncharacteristic impulse—and is both puzzled by and attracted to this joint cupcake shop/book store. He's not sure what he expects to find, but the electric, heavily-tattooed man with an apron standing behind the cupcake shop counter sure isn't it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have Your Cake

**Author's Note:**

> A wip! This started as a crazy midnight whim. Will contain multiple parts. More characters will be added, etc. Open to ideas/suggestions/feedback.
> 
> Enjoy!

Hermann isn't a patient man by any account. When Hermann makes a decision, however, careful consideration goes into it. There is no time for second thoughts and insecurity—Hermann likes to be precise down to the minute. Taking a five minute detour through a charming but absolutely pointless neighbourhood was, therefore, a strange and incomprehensible decision for Hermann to have made.

He didn't stop and waste to think about why he turned right and went on for two blocks, then turning right again and walking parallel to his usual route. Instead, he walked faster, his cane flying wildly at one side and his satchel thumping rhythmically against his other side.

Despite the detour, Hermann would be early to his meeting with the department head of astrophysics. He had completely foregone breakfast in favour of saving time, all due to the stress this meeting had put on him. As he walked past a bakery, the delicate aroma of freshly-baked vanilla bean-something made him halt abruptly and sigh hungrily. Hermann looked down at his watch and decided he could part with three minutes, three and a half if need be.

Squeezed in between a pizzeria that had seen better days and a clothing store was a very modest shopfront that showed very little indication of holding a bakery inside. At first glance, Hermann could only see bookshelves. But where was the mouth-watering smell coming from?

Hermann ventured into the small shop, a small bell ringing as he opened the door. He could now see that there were three rows of bookshelves toward the front of the shop and toward the back was a glass display holding some extravagant looking cupcakes: some looked more like toys or works of art than actual food.

Upon closer examination of the glass display, Hermann began to regret his decision, feeling alienated by the strange flavours he read in the cards lined before the cakes. 'Galactic Starberry,' 'Monster Mallow Mocha,' and 'Salted Slug Trail' were a few of the flavours with equally strange decorations to match their bizarre names.

There was a clatter and a crash in the back of the bakery—what Hermann assumed was the kitchen—followed by profanities and a rather short man rushing out towards the counter.

“Hi, hello! Welcome to Cake-n-Scroll. What can I get ya? First time here?” The man spoke very quickly and seemed unable to sit still. As the man reorganized cupcakes in the glass display, Hermann noticed his arms were decorated with extremely detailed and colourful tattoos. With such art on himself, this man could be no other than the decorator of the ornate cupcakes.

When Hermann didn't reply, the man added, “My name's Newt, I'm the owner. You look, like, really serious and a little confused right now. I think you're not a 'PJ-nana' type of guy, and I don't peg you for the Mallow Mocha kind either...You remind me of my grandpa, kind of...”  
Already Hermann's patience was being tested by the unconventionality of this whole shop, but being compared to an old man when he was perfectly good and healthy—and was that a jab at his cane? He was about to give a piece of his mind to the snarky clerk when the most perfect cupcake was placed right before him.

The cupcake wasn't bright or loud or busy as the all the other ones he had seen. A single plump bright red cherry was the only splash of colour on a curl of perfectly smooth whipped cream, lightly dusted with chocolate flakes. A pang of nostalgia struck Hermann unexpectedly. He knew exactly what it was. 

Even as a child, Hermann was never one for sweets—they were too sweet. But there was one cake that created just the perfect combination of flavours that made Hermann feel, well, honestly, at home. And every time Hermann had Black Forest cake, especially the good kind, he felt at home.

In a stunned silence, Hermann paid the smiling owner, who offered to pack the cupcake to go, a suggestion that made Hermann scoff.

“What, are you going to put it in a small box?” he said, off-handedly as he took the cupcake and a few napkins.

Newt looked at him, puzzled. “Yes?”

“That's ridiculous. No, I'll have it here, thanks.” Hermann meant nothing by this, but Newt closed the register hard.

“Well, I'm sorry but this is a cupcake shop. I don't know what you expected,” Newt's voice rose and he gesticulated more intensely.

“I don't have time for this. Thank you for the cake, and good day.” Hermann walked away with his cake in hand. As he left the bakery he could see the small tattooed man angrily raising his arms and felt a small rush of excitement.

Hermann saw something out of the corner of his eye but was unprepared for the box that slammed into his left arm and sent the precious Black Forest cupcake flying from Hermann's hand and into the pavement. Any good feeling that Hermann had felt was now replaced by anger, which he was ready to unleash on whomever had so rudely pushed him, and with a box, no less.

“Darn it! I missed the door didn't I,” said the scruffy young man holding the oversized box. His accent was very distinctly Australian. An older man sprinted up from behind the young man and opened the door.

“'Fraid so, son,” he then turned to Hermann and laid his hand on Hermann's shoulder. “Sir, I'm terribly sorry about your cake. Please, let me buy you another one.” This man, too, had a thick Australian accent, but, unlike his son, he had a friendly smile on his face and his voice was calm and reassuring. Hermann felt a lot less angry just by looking at this man. Then he remembered he had let way more than the allotted three minutes go by. He had been distracted by the tattooed man—captivated, rather—and now this...

“No, I mean, another time. I'm going to be late. I will come back.”

Hermann gave a stiff wave and a half-smile to the Australian man and hobbled off speedily once more, the phantom taste of Black Forest on his mouth and the afterimage of tattooed arms floating on the back of his eyelids.


End file.
